


holding on and letting go

by majorshipper



Series: after you wake up in vegas [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "a little too much of that poison, baby". First comes love, then comes marriage. It's the baby in the baby carriage that changes it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT a happy cutesy baby fic. There's a lot more depth to Emma's miscarriage of her first baby (who would have been Henry) and pregnancy-related struggles, so be mindful if discussion of it bothers you. I'm anticipating about as many chapters as the original but I really can't say for sure. I can promise at the very least that there will be at the very least a positive ending.

By now, Emma has this down to art, practically. Tear the box open, lose the plastic wrapping, and pee on the stick.

Then wait.

Seriously, an art. She’s even got the perfect games downloaded to kill the time. It’s not her first rodeo, and by now she’s almost forgot the first time she did this, forgotten the way her hands shook when she sat back down again and couldn’t look away from the tiny little marks.

That one positive has been a distinct contrast to the many, many negatives that have followed recently.

Sighing, she proceeds to pop a string of bubbles on her phone, a bright animation informing her of how many points she’s won appears on screen, and she closes out the game. She’s played most of the levels, and eventually it does get boring. But it’s better than thinking about all the boxes full of negative tests that she’s thrown away. Or, alternatively, thinking about Killian and how _excited_ he’d been when she’d informed him that she’d finally taken the last of her birth control. He hadn’t even been phased when she’d reminded him halfway to the bed that it often took months for the hormones to clear your system.

And months it had been. A lot more than she wanted to think about, and a lot of very enjoyable attempts followed by far less enjoyable tests.

At first he’d been there for every single one, insisting that he wanted to know when she did and ignoring her when she reminded him that it was her body and she would probably know before he did. It had been charming, but somewhere after the fifth or sixth box, she’d told him to not worry, that if and when she found out, she’d call him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take the day off to come see her.

She tried not to think of all the horrible landfill waste she was contributing to, and checked the stick. Sighing, she leaned back. Still nothing. At this point it was just rote. In a few more seconds, the little bar would stay the same it had always been, and she would throw it away before putting the box back into the medicine cabinet to await the next time.

Honestly, she should have been happy. She and Killian were better than they’d ever been; not long after they’d remarried, his company had opened up a new office in Maine, and so off they’d gone. Boston had never felt like home, and he’d sworn up and down that home was wherever she was. Business continued to boom, and they’d built a house in a small town called Storybrooke, not far from the new headquarters. It was nice. She had even made friends with the people in the small town. It had felt like an obnoxious time capsule at first, full of fake cheer, but she had warmed to it. Now she worked at the sheriff’s office, helping people get into their houses after being locked out and rescuing kittens. No more chasing down perps in six inch heels.

Sometimes she missed it, not so much the running in deadly shoes, but the adventure of it. The adventure of flying to Las Vegas to track down a rather gifted jumper only to find herself married. That kind of adventure.

Still, this was her life. And she was truly happy with it.

But she still felt like a failure.

They’d been trying so long, it was starting to wear on her. The one time she actually wanted a baby, and she couldn’t just get pregnant. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, it wasn’t from anything the doctors could find. It just took time sometimes, they’d said.

Killian still looked at her like she hung the moon, still teased her about her cooking, and still took her to bed with a passion she’d never felt before.

But she also saw the way he eyed the tests in the trash can, his face sinking, the too-steady tone of voice every time she told him over the phone that it was another negative. All of her old insecurities were coming back; the fears and the worries. She knew better, knew that no matter what, he would stick with her until the end. Still, she knew he wanted a baby. He wanted a kid, and she couldn’t give him that. She’d missed (lost) her shot at being a parent, and now it seemed the universe was punishing her for her mistakes.

She just wasn’t sure why it was punishing him too, not when she knew he would make an incredible parent, that he deserved to have a family like he’d lost, like he’d always wanted.

God, she was depressing herself. She picked up her phone and brought up his contact. His goofily grinning face looked up at her from the screen, ready for one more call.

After this, she was going back to her doctor. There had to be something else they could do, even if it did involve a turkey baster.

She sighed and stood, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked relatively normal enough. Nobody could see what was really happening.

Finally, she huffed and dialed Killian, bringing the phone up to ear. Grabbing the test off the counter, she wrinkled her nose a bit. She _really_ was getting tired of those damn sticks.

The phone clicked and she nearly dropped it.

“Hello?”

But she couldn’t reply, couldn’t even process what was in front of her.

There, as clear as day, were two pink lines, the diagram next to them proudly proclaiming the difference between one and two lines.

Pregnant, it said, right next to the oval with the two lines in it.

“Oh,” she whispered.

_Pregnant_ , it said. 


	2. eight weeks

_Tap._

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Emma grit her teeth and resisted the urge to smack her dearly beloved husband. His nervous knee-bouncing echoed in the small waiting room, only loud enough to be a constant irritation. Now that her morning sickness was here ( _ugh_ ), it felt like anything and everything could set her on edge. She was exhausted, irritable, hungry, and did she mention exhausted? The only thing that got her out of bed in the mornings was the irresistible urge to hurl.

Killian, on the other hand, was probably about to spontaneously go out and buy goddamn crib before she even had her first ultrasound. The man already had color swatches, she was sure of it. The last time he’d come home from the store she thought she’d caught a glimpse of several pastel colors in the bag before he’d tossed it all in the garage and swept her up in his arms.

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap._

Finally, it was enough. She brought her hand down on his knee, pressing hard enough to keep him from moving. He grinned sheepishly at her in reply.

“Sorry, love. Bit nervous,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Her dry wit was not lost on him, and he chuckled, running a hand through his already-ruffled hair. He looked adorably charming, and while that was probably the brand new hormones coursing through her system, she couldn’t resist the urge to pull him towards her and kiss him.

It must have surprised him, but he softened quickly, lips a soft contrast to the scruff that scraped against her cheek. It escalated quickly, from something soft and chaste to him nipping at her bottom lip and her groaning into his mouth.

They were interrupted by a polite throat clearing, and sprung away from each other like a couple of teenagers who’d just been discovered in the bushes. The nurse smiled, but Emma could feel the heat in her cheeks.

God, she was a grown woman with a husband and now a baby on the way. She should not be embarrassed by kissing him in public because it was nothing to blush about. They’d clearly been doing more than kissing to get to this point, and it wasn’t exactly a secret.

The nurse, whose name tag read Emily, led them to a room and informed them that it would just be a second before the tech would be there. Killian took the chair while Emma hoisted herself onto the bed, feet dangling off the edge.

This was all new to her. In prison, she’d had exactly two ultrasounds, both external, one at twelve weeks and one to confirm that she’d lost the baby four weeks later. Neither had been this early, and neither had been done internally. Still, as soon as she’d told the doctor that she’d miscarried, even though it was a lifetime ago, he’d ordered her this one, right at what they thought would be eight weeks.

It had been surreal, that day that the test had finally turned up positive. She’d emptied the box and started on a new one, double and triple checking until she had a small collection of them lined up next to the sink. Killian had gotten home not much later, and insisted on a drive to the clinic to take a proper test, but she knew there was no way to have that many false positives. And sure enough, the beaming look on her doctor’s face was enough to confirm it.

She was pregnant, and this was really happening.

So lost in thought, she almost missed Killian’s outstretched hand, but she saw and tangled her fingers with his. It was different this time. Not just the ultrasounds and the tests, but this time she had _him_. She’d been alone, locked up, and desperate, then. Now was different. Now would be different.

“What are you thinking about?”

He was studying her, brow knit together to form a curious look on his face. She shrugged.

“Thinking about everything that led to this, I guess. Prison. Losing the baby. How things are different now,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. They’d talked about it, a couple times, but it was still difficult to let the words past her lips. It was easy to think abstractly about what had happened to her; it was far harder to talk about it.

“It’s going to be different this time,” Killian said firmly. “I’m not ever going to leave your side. I don’t care if I have to give the company to Smee, I want to be there and hold your lovely hair back from your face as you relive last night’s dinner, and massage your feet, and buy you pickle juice, and do whatever else you need me to do.”

“Ugh, pickle juice,” she made a face, wrinkling her nose, though he had definitely brought her mood up with his words.

He laughed, and shrugged. “Apparently it’s a thing.”

“Not for me it’s not.” She punctuated the words with a harrumph, and Killian leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sure you’re right, love. I would hate for you to be wrong.”

Her smart reply died on her tongue when a sharp knock on the door happened, followed by another smiling woman pushing it open, pushing a cart in front of her. They exchanged pleasantries and she explained exactly how the vaginal ultrasound would work while Emma undressed her lower half. Killian smirked in the corner, and she had to shoot him a glare to get him to straighten up.

It only partially worked.

Still, he was there next to her as she laid back and put her feet up. The woman worked quickly and efficiently, applying lube and inserting the probe. There was a little bit of pressure, and then it was done.

For a long few seconds, there was nothing as the tech adjusted the equipment, but then there was a crackling sound, and the steady whomp-whomp of the ultrasound. There was nothing much on the screen, not that Emma could see, but the lady hummed excitedly, and made and adjustment with something in front of her.

Suddenly, there was rhythm. Steady and strong, a thumping swoosh that could only be one thing.

“There it is,” the tech said happily, and Emma _wasn’t_ a crier but she very nearly did.

There was a heartbeat inside of her, one that seemed to follow her own, even though she knew that wasn’t quite true. She nearly tuned out the rest of what the woman said, pointing to the spots on the screen and explaining each of them. There wasn’t much to be seen of the baby this early, but it was there.

“I can’t tell you too much; your doctor will have to look at the scans and tell you more, but at least you can see your baby beginning to develop. And you can hear the heartbeat, you’re very lucky. We can’t always hear it this early.”

Killian said something in reply, his ecstatic grin and the fast sound of their baby’s heart all she seemed to be capable of noticing.

Almost tentatively, she put her hands on her stomach. There was nothing there visibly; she hadn’t even felt like she was gaining weight yet, but under the surface, there was far more than met the eye. A baby.

Their baby.

Tears stung at her eyes, and despite doing her best to blink them back, they refused to heed her, eventually spilling over. Thankfully neither her husband nor the tech noticed before she could quickly wipe them away. They were engrossed in some deep conversation, but that was okay with her. She’d been through this part before; she knew all the eager questions and the answers. He was soaking it all up, a first he was thoroughly appreciating.

Fingers absently rubbing around her bellybutton, she leaned back, laying her head against the bed. She could swear she felt movement with each beat, but she knew better. She wouldn’t be able to feel the baby until much later, and that would be a whole new experience, one she planned on being fully present for. But right now she knew she could lay back (literally) and enjoy this.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

_Swish swish swish swish swish._


End file.
